Monday, February 9, 2015

When “History” Was “Current Events”

If bombs
were exploding around our property today, we would be terror-stricken. Yet, the full
thrust of a battle occurring over two hundred years ago seems nothing more than
a dusty passage of innocuous words. There is a certain haziness encircling the events of history removed from our current day by not just years, but centuries.

Revisiting the histories of my own ancestors is somehow
bringing those tumultuous times back to life for me. However, it is not the
tangible memorials of monuments or publications or national parks that help me
gain a sense of what that history was like for those who lived through those
times. It is the personal recounting, from the eyes of family members who were
there, that provides the visceral reactions to transform the experience from
understanding facts to feeling
history.

I mentioned yesterday that, in reviewing all the siblings of
the senior Zachariah Taliaferro, my fifth great grandfather, I’ve been reading
about the lives of men and women who lived through the American Revolution.
Indeed, it was because of Zachariah’s own participation as a “Patriot” that I’m
entitled to apply for membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution.

One of Zachariah’s younger brothers, John, also lived
through that time. He was the fifth child of Captain Richard and Rose Berryman
Taliaferro. Born in Caroline County in the British colony of Virginia, John made his arrival on April 7,
1733. As a young man, he studied medicine, becoming a doctor. A dual call on
his life resulted in his becoming a Baptist minister as well—a role that doubly
equipped him for his duties to his fledgling country at its birth, for John,
too, was to become what the D.A.R. now calls a “Patriot.”

Dr. John had settled in Virginia, marrying Mary Hardin, daughter of
Henry and Judith Lynch Hardin. Together they raised a large family of ten
children, all of whom—but for the youngest—were born in Virginia.

The eldest of his children, Richard, born in 1756, must have
been his father’s pride and joy. A close companion who sought to follow in his
father’s footsteps, at the beginning of the Revolution, Richard moved his
household to Surry County, North Carolina, when his
father did. Their properties were near each other, along Fishers
River in this mountainous county bordering
Virginia.

Apparently, at the outbreak of the Revolution, Dr. John had
organized a company of minutemen, becoming their captain. Perhaps that explains
why, in his family’s move to North Carolina,
he was accompanied by others, such as Bernard Franklin—father of a future governor
of the soon-to-be-formed state of North
Carolina.

Dr. John Taliaferro
was a teacher and Baptist preacher and the only physician in Surry County
at that time. He followed Greene’s army as surgeon, and administered to the
sick and wounded soldiers; giving to them such comfort and physical relief as
only skilled hands can offer; and pouring forth his very soul in words of
spiritual comfort to the dying upon the field.

Dr. John’s eldest son Richard, by now in his twenties, followed
in his father’s footsteps, enlisting along with his cousin, Jesse Franklin. The
Ivey narrative explains:

Jesse and Richard rode
down from Surry to join Greene’s forces and fought as privates, side by side;
Jesse loading their two old flint locks and Richard doing the firing.

Greene, the American commander, had prepared his defense in
three lines, with the North Carolina
militia forming the first line. When the opposing forces met, the battle lasted
only ninety minutes. Though outnumbered, the British defeated the Americans,
but in the process lost over a quarter of their men.

When the order had been given to retreat,

Richard Taliaferro was
the last man in the field at Guilford;
he died from a saber thrust from one of Tarleton’s dragoons.

Ivey quotes from a resource she refers to only as “Schenck’s
History, ‘North Carolina
1780-81’ chapters seven and eight…page 301”:

…these riflemen of
Surry were…the very last to leave the field, after Tarleton’s final charge…in
that charge Taliaferro, of Surry, was killed, and Jesse Franklin, afterwards Governor of North Carolina and United States Senator from this State, made a
very narrow escape.

Meanwhile, the slain Richard’s father, Dr. John Taliaferro,

…was doing all he
could to relieve suffering soldiers…the wounded were moved…four miles away…and
he [Dr. John] worked among the wounded as long as his services were needed,
burying many in the graveyard there. He [also] did all he could for the British
that were left on the field…

The narrative could simply have passed for yet another
passage of historical reporting—until, that is, you realize the impact such
events have on a personal level. The Ivey recounting of the aftermath of the
battle just gets me:

It is stated by
members of the family that when Jesse Franklin brought Richard Taliaferro’s
horse and trappings home from the battlefield, that his dogs recognizing his
clothing, whined and moaned for him. This scene was so pathetic that it was
indelibly impressed upon the hearts of all who witnessed the return of the
horse without his master.

Willie Catherine Ivey reports in her book that a monument
was erected in 1893 by then-governor Thomas M. Holt to commemorate “three
heroes of the battle.” The three men she named were Major Joseph Winston,
Captain Jesse Franklin and Richard Taliaferro. According to Ivey, the tablet
reads:

In memory of North
Carolina Troops under Major Joseph Winston, who were fighting the Hessian and
Tarleton’s cavalry near this spot after the Continental line had retreated from
the field of battle, March 15, 1781.

In reviewing the website of the current National Park
Service Guilford Courthouse National Military Park, I don’t find reference to
any such designation. Perhaps, if I were to tour the site in person, I might
find the monument to which she referred.

While such a marker would be a
tangible way to designate what occurred in our country’s history, however,
there is nothing that would leave as visceral a mark as the recounting of
Richard Taliaferro’s horse, without his master, being returned home from
battle. That’s the kind of
designation that leaves an indelible memorial—in our hearts. But only if each
generation is faithful to pass along its recounting.

Above: Photograph of the plaque on the grounds of the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, listing the names, "Major Joseph Winston, Captain Jesse Franklin, Richard Talliaferro; Palmam qui meruit ferat." Note that, at the time of the 1781 battle, both Richard Taliaferro and Jesse Franklin (the younger of the two) were serving as privates; doubtless, the affixed title was acquired at a later date. According to Ivey, this plaque is on the side of the tablet with the larger quote cited above. Photograph credited to Wikimedia contributor MarmadukePercy; used, unchanged from original, by permission; this file licensed under the Creative CommonsAttribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.